


Night terrors

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy, Gen, Team Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:49:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night terrors are a form of sleep disorder in which a person partially awakens from sleep in a state of terror. A sufferer of night terrors experiences an activation of his or her fight-or-flight system. Despite the common belief that children just “grow out of it,” sleep terrors can persist well into adulthood. Anxiety suppressed during work life, or deep-seeded issues, takes a toll on a patient’s sleep quality. </p>
<p>Illya has Night terrors. Napoleon and Gaby try to comfort him. Angst that ends in fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night terrors

Illya had never let himself show weakness, hasn't even let himself feel it.   
He'd been strong for many years, strong beyond expectations, resilient beyond what should be physically possible, quiet and obedient, never ever EVER cowardly. A good russian, someone who could weather any storm, the cold and the heat, the pain, anything and everything. Practically invulnerable, barely human. 

He pretended to have no limits. He pretended he would never fail - pretended to be above and beyond weakness. It was a full time job and it could be exhausting. But he was not all there. Hard as he tried, he had too much baggage that sometimes caught up to him. And he too had a body subject to limits. So, even though he had an iron grip on himself most of the time, sometimes his subconscious betrayed him. And all the horrors and the misery that he forced himself to ignore came inevitably when he dreamt. 

Illya had been plagued with nightmares for a very long time, ever since he was a child and his father was sent to Siberia. He dreamt that he was there, and died in the cold unending vastness of the plains, frantically looking for his father without ever finding him. Sometimes his nightmares became more complicated, almost senseless and end in a massacre, sometimes with him as one of the victims sometimes with him as the perpretator. 

Sometimes things worse than nightmares happened. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night with the most horrible dread, covered in sweat, not remembering anything. Sometimes he didn't take a hold of himself until he was out of the house, in the middle of the street. He feared he would do something unreversible one of those times, in the middle of panic, without even aware of being doing it. 

But he said nothing. He suffered in silence, alone. 

That was the russian way. Or, at least, the only way he knew anymore. 

When on a mission he ocasionally took some pills that prevent dreaming. Sadly, this time, he'd run out. 

*************

The three of them were sharing a suite this time, all in the same room. Gaby and Napoleon were coming back from a boring stake out, hoping their russian team mate had found something worthwhile on the files the american stole for them. The stakeout had proven practically useless, so unless Illya had something very good, they would have to take drastic measures, which probably meant chases, explosions and a new set of injuries. But, that was the job, right? They would gladly take it before going back to jail, to Berlin or being sent to Siberia.   
Solo and Gaby expected to find their team mate ready with the data, but the Russian was nowhere to be seen. 

"Illya?"

"Oh, hell!" Napoleon said, finally locating the figure of the russian, collapsed on the floor, face down. 

When Solo knelt and carefully turned his partner around he saw that he was covered in a cold sweat, his breathing erratic, his face a mask of pain. Gaby was beside them in no time.

"What's wrong with him?"

His eyes flew open but it brought no relief for anyone, as Illya's expression was one of pure terror and confusion. He was breathing too quickly and could his heart beating too fast, not really aware of where he was who were those eyes looking at him. 

"Illya?" Napoleon asked, softly, knowing he probably. "It's just us. Do you remember us?"

"I don't think he's completely awake." Gaby says. "What should we do?"

"We should tread carefully, that's for sure. Apart from that... I don't really know."

He turned again to face his partner's unfocused blue eyes.

"You have nothing to fear." Napoleon said, put his hand up. "Why don't we get you back to bed so you can get some real actual rest?"

Illya was still trying to find out what was really going on and his first reaction was to adopt a defensive attitude but Napoleon was slow, and his voice was somehow soothing. Maybe it had to do with that being the first voice he heard after he drowned, the voice that saved him from the water. Maybe it was that after several missions he now linked that voice wit being saved when everything was hopeless. He really didn't know, wasn't really aware, but he let the american guide him to one of the beds of the suite.

In the mean time, Gaby scoured her memories for things that calmed her down when he was a kid. He asked the receptionist of the hotel to bring up warm milk, camomille tea and a hto water bottle, not knowing what Illya would prefer, but wanting - needing to erase that angst-ridden terrified expression from the russian's face. 

When he was in bed and his eyes closed again, she started singing a lullaby that his father (the real one, the mechanic) used to sing to her, softly, in the hopes that it would comfort him much as it did her. 

Als eine stille Kammer,  
Wo ihr des Tages Jammer  
Verschlafen und vergessen sollt.

Napoleon and Gaby didn't breathe calmly until they heard their partner breathing rythmically again, this time, hopefully, without so much suffering involved.   
**********

The next day Illya woke up as if nothing had happened and asked about the forgotten cammomile tea and milk. 

"We got them for you." Gaby said. "You don't remember what happened?"

"What did happen?"

"We found you asleep in the floor, you must have fallen from the couch while reading the files."

Napoleon figured that their partner wouldn't want to know he'd been seen is such a dreadful state as yesterday's, so simply omitted some details to spare him the embarrasment.

"I do apologize."

Still, both him and Gaby suspect he does remember something, even if it's just bits and pieces, because they hear him humming the Gaby's lullaby not long after.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! 
> 
> If my sources are correct, Gaby is singing something like "A still room/Where the day’s misery/You will sleep off and forget." Song is called Der Mond ist aufgegangen. 
> 
> Please do feedback if you liked! Sorry for the medical inaccuracies and english mistakes! I am neither an english native speaker nor a medical prefessional! 
> 
> And if you have other Illya whump/hurt/comfort prompts and you would like a tiny fic like this you can send them over to my tumblr, username claracivry
> 
> See you around, UNCLERS!


End file.
